Butterfly Wings
by Glyphron
Summary: Deep within his dreams, Fenris cannot escape a monster. He continually runs, but it always follows close at his heels. This night, however, he is not alone.


(Prompt ~ The hallway was filled with hundreds of betterflies, all nestling on the walls. Fenris, Fog Warriors, Danarius, and Edrear Hawke)

He watched the ship pull from port, the mighty mast white banners of rescue which had forsaken him. It took with its departure, the only security and certainty he knew. Now he was nothing more than a hound without a master, left behind to fend for itself. Still trapped within the confines of the falling city, there was nothing left but to turn and fight for survival. Fenris did so with exuberant ferocity, a terrified force of fury worthy of reckoning. In his violent desperation he earned himself reprieve, stowing away into the wilds beyond the city's walls. Trailing his blood from gaping wounds of instinctual violence into a path the whole way into the shelter of trees. Surely, it was in the depths of these jungles that he would collapse to the silence of death with no one to grieve his loss. For he was alone.

Fenris awoke suddenly from this nightmare that spoke of his end, finding himself safe in the care of allies whom he had discovered in his retreat. He was not burdened with lethal injury, but well and in sound state, weighted by suffering no longer. Joy in all its glory is what he had found, a chance to learn of himself, to uncover the truth that he was no animal to be taxed with labor on the commands of another. This incredible wonder was the dream of which he now partook eagerly. The warriors who shrouded themselves in the mists of untame land, which held him in their midst, saw him as an entity capable of achieving his own desires. They made him equal within their eyes and his own, taught him the concept of self endeavors. Fenris would be content to remain here within this world for ever and eternity. But... This was not to be so.

Hailing from the ruined remains of the town, a hunting party tracing his wandering came upon them. And among their ranks the Master he had previously pined after like a misguided dog. And, akin to a faithful pet scorned, he coward beneath those stern eyes surrendering to submission which lacked the pleasure it used to hold. Angry was the man who owned his life, and Fenris understood it would be a price he paid if it were not set right. He was sore afraid. It was he who became the plague which tore down his dreams into the dust in anguish. As he responded, first with hesitation then with dutiful obedience, to the demands of captivity. Still adorned in rusted chains upon his spirit, a prison within his skull. Guarded by a warden which would not allow him to defy the wicked desire of the one who had sentenced him there. Held against his own will by the command of cowardice and ritualistic habits. A shameful sin to behold as he saw the ones he had called friend breathed no more.

It was in this darkness wrought by his calamity of cruel betrayal that Fenris found the need to struggle against the bonds of enslavement. Never before had he tested the strength of the control forced upon him. Enduring decay from the Fog Warriors' touch, the now brittle chains that encircled him gave way when challenged. Fenris turned on Danarius in the same manner as he had so regretfully done his saviors. Yet, he was not ready to slaughter the one who had so entirely defined him for all of the life he had known. Frightened of him still, Fenris took to escape, fleeing from the reach of his abuser. But, as he ran through the thick undergrowth of respite, the great affliction gave chase, following close at his heels. Foul breath was ever constantly heaved upon the back of his neck no matter the haste he made. And Fenris foresaw that he would soon be overtaken by the beast who shadowed his footfalls.

It was in this revelation by which a sound took to the air, dancing in the tide of a breeze. Fenris sought to track it to its source, in need of aid. The harrowing beacon did not falter and, as he neared it, the monster at his back slowed letting distance grow between them. Notes echoed within his ears, and a manor graced his eyes. A lonely residence that stood utterly out of place among the foliage. And, from it, the soothing melody which was that of a flute, shrill and clear in its complex repetitions. Looking about to ensure the absence of the terror who haunts him, Fenris gives pause to catch his wind. This single homage to civilization carved from brick and stone seems a familiar place to his memory, although he cannot recall from where it comes. There is scarce any hesitation as he presses to the door, pushing it away from his steps to enter.

Nature threatened to reclaim the interior, plants made intrusion through the tiled floor, climbing the many doors left ajar. None opened enough to see what lay inside, the secrets behind the wood. Aspects to perhaps uncover if not for the noise that taunted his mind vigorously. Music emanated ahead prompting Fenris onward, leaving the hidden mysteries unexplored for a greater curiousity. Birds in the rafters above gave voice to the tune that seemed to play on for their sake, lulling them into peace and prosperity. He was entrapped by the effects of this lullaby as well, summoned by its call to the source. It guided him, brought him to a flight of stairs that led to a hall spanned short. Diverged two ways, one way to a chamber on the left, the other to a door directly before him. Draped in red, the hallway was filled with hundreds of betterflies, all nestling on the walls. Each winged creature rallied to the entryway ahead, intent upon tracing the same song he followed without the veil of doubt.

With gentle care taken, he stirs the myriad of color from the handle and opens it far enough to slip inside. His line of sight catches hold of a softly lit bed chamber, warm and soothing in its glow. Before the fire sits Edrear in a chair vastly worn with time and adoration. Vibrant in his usual cheer, it is he who plays the flute, vying to portray the intuition of a life made earnest. This was Hawke's home, Fenris mulled over how he had forgotten such a precious detail. The butterflies beyond the way by which he had made entry come pouring inside to drift on the air like flower petals on a draft, announcing his presence as though Fenris were charming nobility. A wayward prince in a twisted fairytale.

All at once the rhythm is cut off, resulting in stark silence, falling away to fading reminiscence. A massive torrent of ice cold fear poisons his every fiber as Fenris senses the horror has stealthily seeped up behind, preparing to swallow him whole. Swiftly, Edrear has risen from his seat, the flute shimmering with unfathomable light as it morphs into a bow of white flame. An emblazoned arrow red as blood knocked to its form, the ray of string pulled tight. As the foe comes down upon Fenris the wrath is loosed against it, piercing the abomination to its core. In ghastly screams the black pulls back and drags itself off to die in great misery and loathing. Still sick with scare, Fenris thought to make retreat, to hide from the possible return of darkness. But Hawke will not allow him this surrender, stilling his racing pulse with a captivating gaze.

Those eyes, void of color and usual vision, yet shatter the grip of his immense concern with whispers of support, promises of endearment. Edrear's lips part in a display of shining joy at the comfort Fenris takes, a resilient toothy grin. Hawke reaches forth his hand to caress his companion's cheek, deliberate in the gesture to ensure clear intentions.

"It'll be alright, Fenris. Just keep holding to your bravery. You are not on your own, I will offer you help."

Strength coming back through his veins, he steels himself, blushing for the shyness of a weakened resolve. Lifting his own hand, he holds it to the touch that stifles his disgrace. Encouraged by the words as was meant, he let's trust console him, closing his eyes in utter contentment. Until he feels Edrear's hand ebbing away beneath his fingertips, as though the younger man were disintegrating into nothingness. Eyes flashing to the remnants of Hawke, deep set with panic, he catches sight of the butterflies as they engulf the body of his lover. Watching it erode into a multitude of fluttering wings which then leave him to wonder as they glide through the paneless window into the world beyond.

Sorrow for the loss of Hawke's presence is cleaved away by an astounding sensation. A slight tickle within his chest as though a red butterfly flickered with liveliness in a chamber of his heart. An emotion he would ever strive to hold in memory. Drawing to a close, the dream gave way to another, changing the scenery. Leaving his mind free to imagine freely, uninhibited by the threat that, until now, had always stalked his soul.


End file.
